Friday, November 20, 2009

the bitter fruit

beauty is my characteristics
beauty was my feature
destruction is my future
sweetness my bitterness

my movement retrogression
i blossom in pain
pain whispers to me
i run and as i run
i was latched twice

my blood jumped out and floated in air
it came back but didn't enter the same place
it perched shyly on my body
i screamed with pain to their joy

their joy say am bitter
cut her off
she is bitter they said sweetly

i am dizzy
i leave bitter
leaving my sweetness

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

words from a heart

it's 1:34 am
it's cold
cold creeps cautiously covered concretely caressing
can't sleep
my fingers wake up typing unconsciously these words
a frame of you stands shattered in my mind
i wake from my sleeplessness to commute with my mind
there you are
smiling and causing me pain
lit my cigarette
my lungs ache from smoking
but how can i exhale the pain you painted in my heart
we saw that future together
we saw it
i saw it
can't type again
to bed sleepless again
are you sleeping now
i will try to sleep after this stick
it's burning away
my chest aches
my mind aches

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Mr. Mirror

Mirror! Mirror on the wall,
how many secrets does thou hold?

Mirror! Mirror in the bathroom,
are you male or female?

Mirror! Mirror!
would you not tell me how many nakedness thou at seen?

Mirror! Mirrow in the tiolet,
would you not tell me how many bloods have been washed

Mirror Mirror!
allow me a journey into your ears
thus i can hear stories of many past years.

Mirror! Mirror!
tears,joys, fears, warnings to your face
ugliness is beauty
beauty is ugliness

Mirror I wait and think what you know
tell me, Mr. Mirror!

Saturday, November 14, 2009


as i move forward
i look backward
as i feel happy
i feel sad
as i feel loved
i feel hated
as i live
i think i will die
as i pursue my goal
ma goal runs away from me
as i look for love
love turns away
the wind whistles empty news to me
i still hear the worlds
the tree lies down by my bedside
it will not grow again
it will wither
my mind is playing in the air
will pursue it in vain
it's lost
as i seek help
i get the other side
i am lonely
but i will talk to the loneliness
it speaks you know

Tuesday, October 6, 2009


Dear Blog Page,

Am very sorry that i left you blank it has been due to some issues beyond my control.

I am back. I have many things to tell you only if you promise me that you have forgiven me. I missed you

Yours truly

Monday, June 22, 2009

A letters to all Bloggers

Dear bloggers,

It has been a while since I posted anything worth reading on this blog page. The reason—there are so many things happening in the world that deciding on what to write about is a difficult task.

However, I decided to call on bloggers to come together and preach ‘Stop the Violence’ all around blogsville and globally. People are dying my friends, chaos is resting peacefully in the corners of the earth and children are the most affected beings of violence.

May I state it categorically that another human’s unhappiness rubs on other people’s happiness unconsciously! When those children in the Middle East cry for peace, don’t you hear their cries? When those children in Africa die of starvation do you think your rosy and robust children’s future is safe? When mothers loose children to avoidable violence do you think you are at peace? Look around you and speak the truth! There is a modicum of violence around you. What are you doing about it? What?

Please join the group “Stop The Violence” on Face Book so that we can help others shout for peace. Safety in America is safety for Africa; safety in the Middle East is safety for Europe. Friends, time is now. Preach against violence because the future is now. Why are we rough “adult” beasts bent on crippling the dreams of the growing infants?

I’ll see you in peace land hopefully in the nearest future.

Your Blogger,


Wednesday, May 27, 2009

My Environs

When you stay in a city such as the above what do you think, say, ask, and hum? What do you take in and take out? My environ is a bevy of cacophonous dangers. I have often wondered if the rich guys and the political goons up there see my environment when they are up in their air beasts. Diseases, sicknesses and poverties’ odour rises to the nostrils in our environment but we do not know.

Clean inside and dirty outside, is that cleanliness. Are we bound to hell because of our habitual filth? Do we see the flies, moths and mosquitoes mocking our existence? Have we decided to toe the line of the unwanted? May be we have decided to bear the curses of unwanted blessings? We have “unconsciously” become unconscious so we become mirages in reality!

Earth is going away and we are waving her good bye. Little did we know that we human beasts existing in these blessed environs will one day beg for a serene place which will definitely be unavailable.

Hmmm……. I think……I think I know but I know I don't know so I am wise for not knowing

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

the gifts of habits

Rotex took the last puff of his indo and blew the smoke out of the window. He watched the smoke as it spiralled beautifully into the early morning rain. The odour of the smoke mingled with the sweet-sour smell of the dirty mud, flowing gutters, and other smokes that billowed from many kitchens that dot the city of Jin. The fresh chirps, croaks, bellows of different creatures mark the beginning of another day—the most significant is the cock’s crow—it’s 6 am here! It’s time for the early morning news. This is Rotex’s early morning ritual—a wrap of marijuana and listening to the early morning news. He tells himself always: ‘keeping abreast with the news around the world is a daily blessing in disguise’. He picks his rickety radio, turns it on; tries to tune it to his favourite news station—Naija News. The radio gives a swish-swashing sound as he tunes it and finally he gets his desired frequency:
The time is six o’ clock. It’s time for the headline news; my name is Aloma Omolupe.
In America, man murders his wife, five children and himself due to the recent global recession.
The Aponle group of companies, in Naija, plans to retrench over Seven thousand staff in three months.
About fifty died in a car crash yesterday along Iba—Iji road; Bodies still lie there for appropriate attention from the appropriate authorities.
In other news, one of Naija’s oil moguls gets listed in Forbes magazine, his assets is said to be worth over a billion dollars.
The CBN governor says Naija will never get affected by the recent global economic crunch. Details of the news will be broadcasted later in the day. Time for some music from the legendary Bob Marley called ‘Kaya’, enjoy it:
“Gats to have kaya now; gats to have kaya now for the rain is falling...” Rotex listens to the music with gusto and hums along.
“This is the best radio station in Naija. They report the best news and play the best music like Fela, Marley, Tosh, infact ...” he was addressing his wife, Bisi, who cut him short.
“Please, spare me the gist, is that what will put food on our table? Is that what will send our twelve year old daughter, Sama, to school? Is that what will put clothes on our back? Or is that what will move us out of this box you call, home?” she asks with a menacing look.
“It’s too early to start complaining. I will, one day, surprise you. I will be rich. I will buy a tall building and have over six thousand people working for me. I will never retrench, I will never be caught by the crunch and I will be very humble amidst my riches”.
“Promises and promises but nothing comes to reality. Your igbo filled mind deceives you. Well the living God I serve will not fail me”, she replies.
Rotex smiles and gave her a look of a rejected son. “God?”, he says and he walks out of the door. By the side of the door a wall gecko separated the fight among three flies by eating them up as such bringing a temporary peace to the insect world. As he walks on his corridor, the smell of yesterday’s urine and the odour of early morning shit rose to meet him. The hard smell is something everyone in this compound is accustomed to, a rather compulsory air freshener, which is subtle in the morning and made harsh in the afternoon by the baking sun. Exiting this compound is a game of wits; you have to make your way through the dark corridor without hitting a stove, bucket, lantern, pots, pans and many other domestic items. He made it through; he has been making it through because he has been staying in this house for the past twelve years. Outside the compound, a mother accompanied her child to the gutter and she watches her child bring out his penis to urinate. The child urinates carelessly leaving some few drops on his hand which he later rubbed on his mother’s wrapper.
“Brother Rotex, guu moring, the child says.
“Good morning, Taju. Iya Taju good morning to you”, rotex replies child and greet the child’s mother.
“Ha! Good Morning brother, ha, you don dey go work?” she answers and asks at the same time.
Rotex ignores her because Iya Taju is one of the mouths and ears of the environs; she likes to know about everything happening in every individual home. She eavesdrops at every little opportunity; all around the environment she is known. The best option is to flee when you see her. This job function of hers has got her beaten over time but she never listens. She is persistent.
“Bye-bye o! Buy something for us when you dey come from work o!” she says mockingly.
Rotex strolls grudgingly on the muddy street with care in order not to slip and fall but he edges on with the following words on his mind, “a man who is on the ground needs fear no fall”. The rain has blessed the streets with gutters filled to the brim; houses turned into pools and added more water to the long stagnant waters on the street. Men, women and children are found scooping water out of their houses unto the street. The weight of worry is heavy for Rotex. It is unbearable. He moves gently but feels a rough bitterness in his mind. He lost his job about two years ago, his company retrenched staff that were not degree holders without regarding his entire ten-year labour for the company. Two years on, he has not found any job while his wife is an unwilling-full-complaining house wife; his daughter hawks oranges daily for little stipends to help feed the family. This is a cross he finds too heavy! When the weight becomes unbearable one looks for a way out and Rotex chose to trail the track of his bad habits. Smoking Indian-hemp and drinking hooch is Rotex’s solace. Every day is another smoking day, a day filled with hopes of a better tomorrow, a day of expectation, and a day filled with expectation of when such dependency will die. Every day he finds himself at the joint where these habits are bought. This brings him temporary happiness, as the pains and agonies of existence are obliterated from his psyche by engaging heavily in this habit, whenever his habit is challenged he replies by saying, “Ha! You better read your Bible, check Proverbs 31 verse 6 then you’ll understand”. Music, however, helps him to give a rhythm to his disorganised life.
As he walks to the joint, he was lost in deep thoughts, thoughts about his man hood. As a man or husband of the house he deserves to be satisfied emotionally, sexually and other wise. Bisi, his heart throb, as it is, proved him wrong. Some days ago, after gaining erection, he tried to penetrate his wife but he was made to know that erection or sex is not meant for a poverty-stricken man like him. His man hood shrunk with shame. That day’s dialogue is still fresh in his head:
“Why can’t I get sexual gratification from my wife?” he asked.
“You should be ashamed of yourself....” she replied.
“Na wa, why please?” he asked again.
“You don’t have money to feed me and your daughter yet that fat penis of yours dey charge”, she protested.
“Of course. I am a man it has to be erect when he sees his property”, he boasts.
“Ha! You are impotent. You are a shameless lot. Do you think that man hood is based only on the effectiveness of your dangling balls? You are insane for you to even think your penis can enter my bosom. When you have the money to feed your family then it can stand erect. For now, it’s powerless as far as I am ......” she complains
“Bisi, it’s enough! Enough! Shut up!” he shouted.
Bisi ran away to avoid Rotex’s wrath. She just recovered from a round of battering before this time. As she ran down the dark corridor she heard Buju Banton screaming rhythmically that, “...the destruction of the poor is in his poverty.”
He quickly shakes himself off from that nasty memory. “I am a man!” he tells himself. Sometimes the positive side of a man becomes weak when societal influences are negative. They must be at par. Finally, he gets to the joint, greets Dr. Mpon, the joint’s owner and other customers of the joint. This is a place where like minds meet, where issues like politics, religion, sex, future, and a lot are discussed by job seekers and pensioners. Dr. Mpon has been in this business for more than twenty years. His mission is to care for needs of the poor in the city of Jin. His motto: “prevention is better than cure”. The joint is designed with pictures of Mandela, Awolowo, Nkrumah, Obama (his latest poster) and other African heroes, the benches here have been battered repeatedly by various carpenters’ hammers. The roof is held together by rust which may fall by any forceful shake but the owner does not care because he believes the customers that come here do not have such strength. The owner sells marijuana, cigarettes, alcoholic herbs, pain killers, sweets, groundnuts, garri, and Chinese balms.
Rotex takes his sit and orders for too wraps of marijuana and eight shots of shepee (locally brewed alcoholic herbs).
“You still dey owe me eight hundred naira from the last one wia you buy, now you come open that your dirty mouth dey order for more shots!” the owner says.
“The Doc why you dey treat your special customer like this? Abeg Doc! You know say without your combination man no fit survive these days, help your man na?” he pleads.
“Abeg no sweet talk me today! Credit crunsh dey therefore no free igbo and ogogoro for you”, the owner replies.
“Ha na for only America and western world that thing dey happen he never reach here for Naija, them talk am for news today. Don’t worry I go pay you”, Rotex promises.
“Na so you talk the last time, again you don come with your empty promises like say you be politician. Abi you be politician wen go promise us bridge where river no dey ?” the doc asks.
“At all o! Me I know be like that at all, wen I promise I dey make am happen, I no dey promise promise like those thieves wen be our leaders, like all those animals wen dey on top of the throne. Me na man of hin words, no failure”, says rotex.
“I hear you. Na so we human beings be, na so so lie we sabi. This na the last time wia I go sell credit for you. International financial advisers say make we be wise. I need the money because na hin i dey take bribe police, pay for light wen no dey and school fees for my children. You hear me?” the owner asks.
“Ok Doc, no problem. Na the last time be this, thank you very much, you are far too kind”, Rotex replies joyfully.
“Oya, na the last time o!” the owner warns as he gives Rotex his order.
Rotex takes the cup of ogogoro and takes it in one gulp. The alcohol gradually creeps into his system sending waves of heat all over his body. He narrows his eyes as he swallows the bitter alcohol and pours away the dregs. Bitterness cures bitterness while sweetness hardly cures bitterness. He wraps his marijuana meticulously in order not to spill any atom of the drug, after attaining the desired posture; he lit it, took a deep drag and made a loud whistling noise while inhaling the smoke. Without this action the desired gift cannot be attained. Some drags to the head and Rotex got the desired gift. The gift is found in between the natural plants. He found himself in a world he wishes never to leave. A world where everything is easy, a world with egalitarian features, a world where corruption is far, a world where racism is absent, a world where religion is not a basis for individual judgement, a world where personal achievement is for the entire benefit of the environment, a world where all the world leaders sit around the same dining table, a world where gender bias is dead, a world where human life is held with high regards and a world where every human smiles. He hates to stop smoking it because he loves to travel to that world with his marijuana. At this point he has to stop because tomorrow is another day. Reality flashes back with the scorching sun on his head. Reality, sometimes, is a disadvantage.
Meanwhile, Rotex’s daughter, Sama, is hawking her oranges at the same time. She sells oranges to help her family put food on the table. She is the unsung heroine of the house. Today is another selling day. She goes to her first point of sale, the mechanic workshop, where she gets the highest number of buys. Today is an unknown tomorrow. In the workshop, the mechanics also involve in the act of smoking Indian hemp to relief their minds from the harsh realities of existence. Today, Sama, comes after they have smoked heavily. The gift is unknown.
“Broses, una no go orange today?” Sama questioned.
The three mechanics only saw that Sama’s breast has grown all of a sudden. They, in unison, think about the fun they will derive by penetrating her.
“We go buy those orange for your chest”, the first mechanic said.
“Which kain play be that? Una dey buy or not?” she asks annoyingly and making a move to leave.
“Come back here!” the third mechanic commands while drawing her back.
They tore her clothes, carried her and slammed her on the ground. She kicked, punched and fought back in protest but her energy was too miniscule. She tried to shout but her mouth was sealed by one of the mechanics’ filthy hands. The first mechanic tore her pants off then smiled. Bringing out his already hard penis and penetrated her. Sama screamed! While screaming she perceived the hard repugnant smell of marijuana smoke. Conditions, she thought, varies. This is hers and she must bear the circumstance. It is a painful sacrifice indeed. She asks herself: what is in a family? They all took rounds on her leaving the earth bloody. Virginity means nothing to the corrupt. They wiped their groins, threw money on her and left her to clear her mess. It is dark now and the darkness came with its tunes through the silent wind that blew that evening. In tears, Sama took the money, left the oranges, dressed herself with her torn dress and went home.
Sama walks home with unseen tears. She got home and saw her mother lying down on the bed. She threw the money on her as if her mother were some goddess of sort. Bisi jumps up asking:
“My daughter welcome, you came early today?”
“Yes mama!” Sama replied angrily.
“Hope nothing is wrong?” Bisi asked.
“Nothing”, Sama says.
“Thank you my daughter, God bless you than your father”, Bisi prays.
“God?” she asks.
“Yes O! His mercies are new everyday”, Bisi preaches.
Sama keeps mute. Silence is noisy when it comes from victims of some circumstances. Later Sama sleeps off leaving Bisi who later went to see their neighbour who sells clothes and beauty apparels.
Rotex walks in some hours later very drunk plus he carried the smell of marijuana around him. He goes straight and lies near Sama on the bed. Sama, while sleeping, perceives the odour of marijuana which brings back that memory. Unconsciously, she stands up, gets down from the bed, walks to the shelve, again the smell brings some pains, brings some inner scream, her vagina hurts, she feels a hard penetration, she picks a knife from the shelve, the pain comes nearer, as she moves the odour fills the room, the mechanics’ words echo loudly in the room, she moves closer to the dad and the odour moved closer to her, the mechanic faces flash in her head, she raises the knife, she screams, “stop!” and she stabs her father on the neck. The knife went in and she dug it deeply causing Rotex to bleed profusely.
“Why?” Rotex asked
“You rapist!” Sama shouted
“Am sorry, please forgive me?” he cries.
“I hate you!” Sama shouted.
He died.
Bisi comes in to see the scene and all she could say is, “thanks that is the face of poverty!” Some gifts are worth rejecting. Sama cries on while Bisi clears the cadaver.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Let’s Move Forward

I try to decipher the difference between the past and the future but this exercise is turning me into what I cannot explain. I ask my self many questions but I could not get any answer. Does the past decide the future? How can you forgive and forget people and yourself? History is a land where future lessons her learnt. My friends tell me that forget the past and move on but I ask: do we easily forget the past? To live in the present doesn’t mean that memory can be deleted.

How do people who loose loved ones move forward? How do people who have committed nefarious crimes move forward? How do you forget that HOLY man who slept with your wife? That guy who killed your only son? Will these kinds of events shape or mar one’s future. In other to move forward I believe one must suffer a little kind of pain. “No pain No gain”, or “no past no future”.

Let’s move forward. How? One of my best friends on face book said you have to be able to control your ego to move forward and hope for a better tomorrow. To an extent that’s true but how? You stand and confront your past but if you allow your past take a walk with you into the future then you’ll be doomed. I was once innocent, turned bad, and now I’m craving for those innocent pasts which I believe will move me forward. So? This world is a complex circle. Why do we need historians if the past is not important? What do we filter and keep?

When does one really draw the line? I really need some education I believe.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

…EARTH………. 12PM…?!!!!!

Today was bore by yesterday
I shot the seed into the earth yesterday
And Today I am told to uproot
“Uproot!” They advised.
“Why did you plant?”, they asked.

12pm, I have decided to uproot
I cry when I think of uprooting
Uprooting the same seed I planted
As I uproot I shed tears and blood.
“Dig dig and dig”, they commanded.
I dug and they laughed.

But I have seen people harvest
Why can’t I?
I follow suit with shaky voice…
I would have loved the harvest.
I SWEAR! Am sorry!

Good bye unknown fruit, good bye seed
Will I see you again?

These is my sorry-heavy heart
Am sorry!
I will plant again!

SOB! SOB! It’s 12 P.M.


Saturday, February 21, 2009

Listen: What Dust Told Human

Dear Human,

I write to you with inner most frustration on how you exist. Recently, the rate at which you live your life makes me wonder if you realize that you would still come back to me. Do you know you were beautifully constructed by an Artist who used me as an instrument? Yet you humans think you are more than that patient Artist and think you will never go underground.

I write to tell you that your new behaviours are appalling! I write to tell you that it's quite shameful when you forget where come from. In my movement around the earth I have seen things that have made me numb. Brothers killing brothers, sisters killing sisters, men of God killing in God's name, prostitution, diseases, avoidable tears, avoidable sicknesses, jealousy, pride, lust, fast money schemes, leaders who take pleasure in seeing their own followers wallow in pains, e.t.c. While all these take place, I begin to wonder if you know that you are made of dust. You are nothing! Everything you own is nothing! When you come back you will be nothing! So why do you think you are something on earth. Before you were, the earth was and after you, the earth will continue to exist. Remember friend, "Dust to Dust", never forget that, being!

One evening, as I was moving across the bustling streets of Lagos, a guy in a rickety looking Honda bashed a Navigator from behind mistakenly. The man from the Honda came out pleading with the "big guy” from the navigator but he refused. The following conversation ensued between them:
Honda Man: Please sir! It was a mistake, I am very sorry.
Big Man: Sorry, I can’t accept that! We have to sell your car to spray my own car, let me call my mechanic.....
Honda Man: Haba Oga, he never reach that one, it’s just a mere scratch.
Big Man: Will you shut up?! Don’t start! Do you know who i am?
I laughed at the big man and answered his question: he’s mere DUST. Do you know who you are human? Check yourself!

Yours Ordinarily,

Tuesday, February 10, 2009


In the city of Hui, the shrill air moved swiftly around the town; the air spoke to the birds which made them flap their wings with gusto, closed their eyes to savour the airy embrace and made them chirp “gloriously”. The air whispered to the trees, they danced, giggled compulsorily, and bowed to the tremendous odour of the city’s air. The news of the air had nothing new. The air exists, existed, and exists today. It made the rivers hit the shores with unusual energy. It made the rivers flow in a movement so slow; a movement that is so mundane; a movement so sick; a movement cloaked in ugly apparels. The air and the river never co-existed well because the river, as it is, is used to washing away the air’s belongings—poverty and sorrow. The river has washed away the pains, agonies, and tears of the people. It has washed away unwanted memories of the people but it has not succeeded in washing away the expected deficiency of the city’s citizens.

Existence, in Hui, is a game of dice. The probability of living another day in this city is sinewy. There is no news like bad news here even when the worse happens. The absence of daily human needs would not allow you scream when such sad event happens; there is a means of traveling away from such existence—hallucination! Mr. Frigbi, a bricklayer, is a member of this society. He has a wife, Giti, who fries and sells akara (bean cake) down the unattractive road near a repulsive gutter. Her sale of akara is the backbone of the family’s existence because the bricklaying business of the so called bread-winner comes only seasonally. They brought into existence two skeleton carved children named: kig and Soye. These children have never been to the ‘two’ walls of a school. Neither do they know how it feels to be shrouded in beautiful clothings. They have grown to understand that happiness is a far fetched mirage. Indeed, they are very brilliant but the parents cannot afford to boost their brilliance so they are left to probe the dangerous streets with their bare legs. However, they get educated and that is from wandering. When they retreat to their rooflessly-roofed house, to that house with a colour they cannot describe, a house filled with an air so poisonous, they are always pregnant with many questions.
Soye is usually very quiet. She has been overwhelmed by the living conditions she has found herself in. She moves with a noisy silence which makes some people think she was born incomplete. On her head, a little garden of ringworm gained space in the front of her face while a fly managed to perch comfortably on her eyelashes. She asks the most confronting questions which her father always fail to answer. Today, she asks the same questions she normally asks: “daddy, why we live so poor?”, “daddy, why can’t you be rich?”, “daddy, why can’t we live in those beautiful houses you always build?”, “daddy, why can’t you work in those tall buildings you always build?” “Daddy……”, then she burst into her daily routine of tears; the fly on her eyelashes tasted the salty bitter tears then it decided to take a flying leave. She hummed profusely while kig watched on in the corner of the house eating a-four day old eba. Frigbi is a man! He must never be caught weeping. He walks carefully to Soye to console her. He picks her from the ground and says, “I will try my best so that we can escape this ugly environment so that you will not cry again”. He continued, “God will wipe away our tears”, Frigbi said. She cried till she slept off, as he turns to look at kig, he saw that she had slept off. The only solution to pain is sleep and probably a very long sleep. A sleep filled with good dreams. The musical notes of the night insects can never distract them. Why? They are used to the rhythm of life’s painful whip. Frigbi has decided to end his family’s pain with a long sleep! He still wonders how he can end the pain. Giti comes in, looking tired, famished and exhausted. She walks in with a swagger that befits an already dead man.
‘Welcome’, he says.
‘Thank you’, she replied.
‘How market’, he further questioned.
‘I don’t know! I am tired. I can’t say’, with a stammering voice.
She cried and hummed just like Soye. Again, Frigbi goes to console her. He says, “I will try my best so that we can escape this ugly environment so that you will not cry again”. She nodded in acceptance and snored off.
In this environment there is the search for temporary escape from the harsh realities the society has to offer. They have found it in the mist of sleep. He stares at them and watches how the mosquitoes perform their gymnastic abilities on his family. Tears rose to meet his eyes but he must remain a man. He is not allowed to cry. “My family will never cry again”, he says. As he steps outside the house he noticed that the only star that gave light to his compound went very dark. He finally cried. The superfluous solution to his families suffering came to mind.
In the morning, he woke up with a lopsided smile. “My family will cry no more”, he thought. Akara, however is the only breakfast they know, other types of food is an unaffordable luxury. Frigbi warms last night’s akara and adds his problem solver—poison!
“Giti”, he called out, “I have warmed the akara this morning for breakfast, come and eat!”
Giti was surprised at this gesture so she asked: “are you serious?” she asked.
“Of course”, he replied.
He also called the girls and they ran to meet daddy with a hug. He hugged them intensely. He left the kids to hug his wife too.
“This is unusual”, Giti retorted.
“Cant a man show love to his family in the morning?”, Frigbi asked.
“Yes of course. Ok. Children lets eat”.
As mother and children sat to eat, father watches with eyes pregnant with tears. The solution he found is a coward’s way out, he thought.
“Come join us daddy”, Kig invited.

“Enjoy”, he said. He knew they would enjoy with this exit. He also knew that they would be transported to a land where hunger and pain never exists. They will enjoy this exist, he thought again. After eating the bean cake they died instantly without saying a word but Giti would not go with out leaving a word, she asks, “Frigbi, do you murder someone you love?”, and she died.
“We must answer this call”, he replied.

He looks at his dead family and smiles with tears. He gets his Dane gun, moves slowly to his compound, places it on his head and blows his brain out. His thought was spluttered all around the compound. The brain matter scattered in disorderly arrangement into the air. The air consumed the story and continued its journey.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Story of an “Almost” Born

(This is faction (facts and fiction), the onus is on the reader to filter the message for consumption and throw away the unwanted versions into the mind’s bin.)

My name is unknown because I was unable to cross from the heavens to earth. Sometimes I wonder what I would have been called. A name probably befitting my royal exit from heaven but I never made it to earth. I almost did! I inhaled a little mishmash air of earth but as I was about to savour earth’s air, I was cut short by death’s unfriendly call. The members of heaven wept profusely for my immediate entry and exit. My earthly friends were happy about my coming but little did they know that their smiles will be short lived.

My mother, now in heaven, told me not to tell the earth about my experience; she said the earth is wicked and that I will only earn my self more abuses. I refused! “I must report to mother earth what her children have done to me”, I told my mother. She begged me, amidst her heavy and lonely tears still I refused. She cries daily. Everyday, she shed tears. She died with pains. She tells me that even the memory of the incident makes the pain increase. She asks me: “how can you feel pain in heaven?” Such questions are too hard to answer. As such, I decided to tell earth about their wickedness. They may probably have an answer to such pains. I wish earth receives this information for their candid judgment. If only you (earth) can see my mother’s swollen eyes? If only you can see how tears have numbed my mother? She cries and laughs in pain. My effort to come into earth brought her death. It pains me. I wept. I weep. I am still weeping! I caused it! How?

About many moons ago, my mother was nine months pregnant (I can’t calculate in earthly times).Patiently and “labourly” waiting for my entrance. In the middle of the night, she was feeling very heavy and was ready to drop me onto earth. The other mothers in the house ran to call the village matron who has helped to deliver many children in my village. The elderly woman ran in slow meticulous steps into our house where my mother was laying on the ground in pains. A wall gecko in the cracked corner of our house nodded seven times and seven times did my mother screamed. The village matron came in with her bush lamp; it came with odours of different rooms in my village. She came with other women to assist her. The women surrounded my mother, one by the hand, one by the head and the village matron was in front of the vulva to help bring me to earth. Moths disturbed their ears and I laughed. It was funny how they attempted to kill the moths; the way their hands flew in the air, in an attempt to kill these disturbing insects, had an element of humour. The village matron, in her local dialect, told my mother to push. She screamed, screamed and screamed, “Yeahmmmmnnnn!!!” then, suddenly, all the women would hear was, “plop”, I came out with my leg first. The women all screamed in unison, “abomination!” This is impossible! This is a curse! They ran out to tell my dad about my misstep. The only way I could be saved was for me to be taken to an orthodox hospital. To be brought out by a professional. My father hissed and said “I no go anywhere, so that one man go dey look my wife yansh? Lai lai!” he further said, “my God and religion forbids that kind of rubbish, make una leave them there to pay for their sins”, he said.

My mother was in pains, she cried for help but none came. All I could do was to swing my leg back and forth, it was fun. Little did I know that mother and child were on there way to extinction! Ha! My mother was in pains! She could not close her legs because my leg was in between her legs. She wailed, “help!”. Nobody came. Everybody around were busy muttering bitter nothings. She was left there and the evening flies tickled my legs. I moved the leg again. Again, she screamed, “yeeee!” The wall gecko tried to help by killing the flies, so it crawled on my mother’s vagina to eat up all the flies that were swarming my bloody legs. It waited there and made sure that no insect came around. It heard my mother’s cry and it nodded again. We were left helpless because of religion and beliefs! I was left there till my leg got swollen, thus, causing my mother’s vagina to swell. She could not scream again, she had lost so much blood; therefore, the strength waned drastically. She stayed painfully quiet. She fought and lost the battle with death. She fought! And she died……….. I could have been on earth too but I died too……….. almost got there…….

Now in heaven, she is still in extreme pains. What can I do?

Saturday, January 24, 2009



hate goodbyes either good or bad. It breathes an air of loneliness and proportions of grotesque nostalgia. It unnerves staccato wailing sounds; it sends lachrymal signals to the brain, thus, giving birth to lonely tears. Really, the weight of departure, separation or even disconnection is immeasurable. Ironically, though, life is filled with separations, divisions, partings, disconnections, splits, break-ups, detachments, call it whatever you like, it exists in our daily milieu.

Realistically speaking, I would like to calculate the mathematics of departure but this humble writer hates figures with a passion, fortunately enough, that task has been unregrettably avoided, as a matter of fact, it has been jettisoned! Have you ever asked yourself why people hate to let go of memory—happy or sad? These questions keep creeping in my head. Departure cuts across all classes, races, social status, to state it emphatically; it exists without rule and does not pay obeisance to authorities.

The weight of departure, however, comes in various scenarios. It might be a love scene—a scene where two lovers have to say goodbye! Where both parties agree that the bond has lost its grip and any further movement might cause a drastic fall. The parties simply crack the hard nut of oneness. They realise that the only gift of parting is sweet-bitter memories which is always cherished during the initial ceremony of departure. There is an effort to discard the packs of musing moments which turns out to be a very difficult task, especially when the memory is dotted with playing sports like: chase-me-I – chase you; saying same words at the same time and playing the almighty “bed-minton”, hmmmmn! Where will one get another? Change is a very big risk so at that juncture there is this unwanted pulsating fear. The fear of: ‘to be or not to be’. One can cultivate the Obama courage but this is departure!!! Nothing is impossible or impossible is nothing! After a shattered relationship, what is next? Try to move on because the future is pregnant with memories that are unfathomable. As a human being, I have walked through that blind, dark and puzzled path of lost love. Quickly, I learnt that for every departure, there is an arrival.

Another scene can be drawn from the pool of tears that flood our airports whether local or international. It can also be carved from the contours of the assorted bus parks around town. Have you ever accompanied your brother, sister, relatives or close friend to the airport? Have you ever seen the willingness to stay and compulsion to go? I saw it today. My brother and friend, who had to leave the country to expand his knowledge base in another country, fell into the above question. He shed tears like a brand new baby. He gave two answers with his tears, YES and NO. Yes representing, I love you guys, No representing I have to go (if not, money go waste). There was a fusion of feelings in his big heart. Freely, he let the tears roll down his cheeks, the drop of tears smelt like the rose that would blossom in the nearest future. By my side I saw a mother breathe in the perfumes of her daughter’s body in exchange for her temporary disappearance. We all love to hate the departure unit, don’t we? She shed tears until they bore the weight of departure.

Do i need to mention the last scene....... Olorun Maje O! But everyone must get a piece of that action whether maliciously or naturally. It is best served when you have served mother earth well

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Obama Wahala

As a big fan of history, I quickly dropped the work i was doing in my office, to watch history take place. I ran to the reception to join other staff watching our "own" Obama make history! My oga, the workaholic, comes out ranting, "is this what you get paid for?" Ok. We went back to work grudgingly. The guy(oga) goes to take a leak and we rushed out again to continue our Obamania wonder!? Oga comes back to meet us again............... the guy smiles and says "Ha! this guy can inspire people o!" The guy  takes an automatic sitting position then joined the scorned. The focusless scorner. Promise, the errand boy in my office, utters in low tones, "this oga na old fool, so him ma wan watch Barack become president of US. He senior Baarack by far but the man get money and popular pass am, see him bald head, na to dey send message he sabi......." 

My oga starts clapping as Obama delivered his speech. After the speech, the man just closed for the day. Quite unusual! He leaves after everybody. Wetin Happen?

Promise: the guy wan go think about him life.